


She sights a Bird—she chuckles

by middlemarch



Series: Daffodil Universe [3]
Category: Mercy Street (TV)
Genre: American Civil War, Cats, F/M, Gen, Romance, opera - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-10
Updated: 2016-04-10
Packaged: 2018-06-01 08:08:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,510
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6509914
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/middlemarch/pseuds/middlemarch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mary makes a new friend in Alexandria. Anne Hastings and Dr. Foster both have something to say.</p>
            </blockquote>





	She sights a Bird—she chuckles

The first time, Mary wasn’t certain she had actually seen the cat. She was hurrying down the hall, arms full of bandages, trying to decide if it was worth the lack of decorum running would engender to spare the entire hospital the sheer volume of Jed shouting for “Bandages, how in Christ’s holy name am I supposed to actually try and save a life? Am I the only one here even making an effort to keep this Union patriot from death?” There were days, Mary hadn’t yet managed to discern the pattern, when Jed was both irascible and operatic, when his mercurial passions could briefly unite such disparate forces as Phinney and Hastings. For those were the days, the minutes really, when Anne Hastings would quirk one eyebrow at Mary before embarking on some anodyne commentary meant to subdue Jed with its innocuous inanity. The détente never lasted long but Mary considered that her God truly was a just God, making sure his servant was paid back for the indignity of Jed’s melodrama with a respite from Anne’s.

There had been a flicker, a caramel flash, she saw from the corner of her eye and it was only later in the evening when she had a moment to remember and consider. While she thought it was possible Mansion House harbored a cat, she couldn’t be sure and as it was of no import, she let the question go and turned her mind to other more pressing matters. That night she dreamt of Jed and Anne in a production of The Marriage of Figaro, Jed as Cherubino and Anne playing every other role. She woke with a smile, though she shook her head at the dream-images of Jed in spangled tights and Anne in a powdered wig. She and Gustav had seen scenes from the opera performed at the lyceum in Lowell, but her sleeping mind was happy to elaborate, even to a full orchestra and whale-oil footlights.

The next time, it was clear that the cat was present. Early in the morning, while those who could, slept, she found it walking leisurely, placing dainty paws just here, just there, while scanning the veranda half-heartedly for prey. Mary saw it was a pretty calico, ears white tipped, healthy but not very plump. She suspected the hospital was not such a good resource as the hotel had been. There were fewer scraps about and more than one rat tried to rule the premises, dating from Bullen’s reign. Mary liked the little cat, going about its business straightforwardly and she resolved to bring a dish of milk with her before she retired for bed. It was pleasant to think of the surety of making one creature totally content before a long day ensued.

The day was a gift, the surgeries proceeding swiftly. There were no hemorrhages, no sudden fevers. Jed was all jollity, amusing himself as much as the men, and such was his humor that even the solemn chaplain moved from smiles to laughter. Mary found there were more stew left in the pot and enough loaves for men to be offered a second slice. She took both tea and her dinner and did not anticipate a night where her hunger was finally vanquished by her exhaustion. She was happy to fill a small cracked dish, painted inexpertly with clematis, with a draught of milk and bring it to the porch to leave for her little friend.

Ah, well! What could she expect? Every day must have its vinegar and here was hers. As she placed the dish on the wide planks, having spied an inquisitive set of whiskers, Anne Hastings set upon her. Jed was not far behind.

“Nurse Phinney, whatever can you be doing down there? Have you dropped something?” Anne asked, pelting Mary with her words.

Mary rose as gracefully as she could, careful not to disturb the small meal she had left. She stroked her hands along her brown skirts, considering the best way to handle Anne. The day had gone well, but still she was tired; she decided honesty would have to do.

“Well, Miss Hastings, you see, there is a little cat about and I thought I might leave a dish of milk for its supper.” She simply stopped talking, hoping there was too little grist for Anne’s mill. Jed had walked closer, was watching the exchange with his bright, dark eyes. 

As usual, her hope that Anne’s measure of human-kindness could more than glaze a tea-cup's well was dashed. “A cat? So now, you are the head nurse of cats? What vermin will come under your purview next? Are we to find mice at the table, ready for their portion of Cheddar?” Anne’s volume and pace were increasing. Mary could see she was working herself to a crescendo. She risked it—and looked imploringly at Jed. He’d been in such a jovial temper all day, perhaps it was not too much to ask that he assist her now.

“Nurse Hastings, I think perhaps a cat may look at a king and Nurse Mary may choose to share her loaves and fishes, or rather, her milk in dishes with whomever she chooses.” Anne Hastings positively goggled at the joking clang of words; she was experienced enough to hear the rebuke beneath and strategically withdrew, clucking to herself about the color of cats at night.

Mary sighed with relief as Nurse Hastings receded. Jed took the space of her breath to step closer. The evening was pleasantly warm, but still he was near enough to feel the heat of his arm next to hers. She was aware of the shape of the air around her and how it also wrapped him in its balmy embrace. An unfamiliar ease overcame her, just as the little calico peered around the corner, nearly prancing to its supper. 

To Mary’s surprise, Jed knelt, quite softly, as the cat lapped at the milk, its little pink tongue like a petal. He began to stroke its fur, his slender fingers kneading the fur behind its ears, and gliding down its sinuous spine. Mary heard the sound of purring over the other sounds of impending night; it was a sound from the peace before the War and one they might expect in the time to come. Mary allowed herself to wander a bit in her mind, basking in contentment like the calico at a hearthside.

“Shhh, shhh, aren’t you a sweet little girl,” she heard Jed say in a tone that spoke of domesticity and affection, “that’s right, drink all that milk. It must make a change for you from feathers and scales, mustn’t it? Isn’t that right, Puss?”

“Yes,” Mary answered, the response drawn from her without premeditation. She snapped her mouth shut as she realized she’d spoken. She realized she was speaking, not as the little calico, but herself, the Mary who’d been called Puss and Darling, by her father and then her husband. She could only hope that Jed would overlook her misstep or possibly might have failed to notice.

He rose and she saw in an instant he had heard and was taking the greatest pleasure in her reaction. A smile she rarely saw was present on his face; he appeared entirely delighted, the full sun of it taking away every shadow.

“So, shall I call you Miss Puss, then, when I need to call for you? Will that keep me in bandages and coffee? If only I had known, I would have used the name you preferred, Baroness,” and he stopped himself with a chuckle as she reached a hand toward him.

“Jedediah, you mustn’t,” she tried but he pounced.

“Mustn’t what? Mustn’t call you Puss? Is there another name you would answer to? Is it ‘pet’ you wish to hear?” Mary was bemused. Jed was clearly ready to continue on in this way for some time, but the night was falling and the first stars were pricking the sky. The little puss who had started it had crept away on its little cat-feet, though Mary suspected she had made one more friend in Alexandria. She would need to recall Jed from his ramble or they would pass from propriety into the softness of temptation.

“You have learned my secret then, Jedediah, at least the only secret I will share tonight. I have been called Puss since I was a little girl and Gustav kept it up. He said I didn’t have the look about me of a ‘schatz’ but that Puss suited my independent personality.” Mary smiled and gestured for them to return to the house. Jed fortunately acquiesced. He knew Mary enough to see they had reached an end to it, but he tucked away the sound of her voice when she answered his endearment and the knowledge that Gustav must also have shared, of her feline charms and hedonic delight in a touch. And he thought of how she gave herself away when she mentioned secrets unspoken. She had shared one more tonight than she knew.

**Author's Note:**

> This was intended as an antidote to my earlier post today which was much sadder. Credit as always to the estimable Emily Dickinson for the title. No animals were harmed in the making of this story, though I think Puss may try to scratch Anne if she gets the chance. And for the record, that will be the only catfight I will ever write!


End file.
